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Wonderful World of Wednesday

"No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace."

~ H.P. Lovecraft ~


Beauty and nightmares are both a matter of opinion.

**Warning** Fast Movements, Typical Fandom Violence

There are times when the sweetest dream is your worst nightmare.


Did you know?

‘Devil’s advocate’ was a real job until 1983. Any time the Catholic church wanted to canonize a saint, an official acted as the devil’s advocate by questioning the candidate’s saintliness and arguing against their supposed miracles. If the potential saint could hold up to the intense criticism, the church knew they officially deserved the title.

Today's Tarot Card from October 3, 2018, from Galaxy Tarot

Two of Wands

Choice, Potential, Contemplation, Threshold, Planning\


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 3rd, 2018 06:26 pm (UTC)
used a bunch of this in a RP bit...introducing my NaNo Character into the world to get a feel for where he's at now.
So...he is meeting Daredevil for the first time.
He remembered his life, the horror of the commonplace, drudgery and solitary routine that had been both a comfort in its familiarity and unbearable in its isolation. Only his personal war, the effort to find Venn…to learn if he lived or not…had kept him going for so long, had given him purpose and solace and a reason to live.

His memory of what came after, however was hazy at best. He remembered snippets. He remembered green. Mountains. The sea. He remembered trying to make things work, trying to come out of the darkness into the light. Trying to give up the drink and the fight and rebuild some semblance of a life. But his work as a bilger had been an anchor that kept him in a world of darkness, a darkness he felt compelled to overthrow. He remembered it drawing him back. He remembered the arguments…actually the same one over and over in different words and tones...he remembered a coin in his hand…

…and then nothing.

No, not nothing. His next memory was here. This strange world, strange place. A city not in the embrace of eternally falling water. People beneath an open sky and yet not the parah village he had begun to know.

The world was wrong…but no so wrong that he was ready to leave it. Not while he felt a draw towards something inexplicable. There was somewhere he needed to be. Something he needed to find. Or maybe it was someone. He hoped he would know it when he found it.

After so many days without a decent meal, however, with the oxygen tanks in his suit depleted to near empty…or maybe empty now that the hose had been broken, the oxygen now bleeding out into the pre-dawn hours as he fought to fill his lungs. It might help to take off the mask and hood, take in unfiltered air fully rather than through the narrow intake of the mask.

But what if someone saw him? What if they knew.

“Hey…are you okay…? You need some help?”

Knew what?

With a start, a response to both the voice and the hand that lay gently upon his shoulder, his head jerked up abruptly enough to bang against the solid wall behind him. It was jarring, not so much because of the pain of impact but because his recent decrease in alcohol intake had created a cotton-stuffed feeling in his head that led to the feeling of impending explosion upon impact. Behind the dark-tinted industrial lenses that hid his whiskey brown eyes, he was surprised to find a man, also masked, crouched before him with an expression of concern weighing at the corners of his mouth. Not a Crow’s mask. Not a bilger mask or the sort that any of the other duct-workers wore, but a mask with horns…a devil.

Certain he could take the stranger in a fight if he had to, or at least he would be able to if he was able to breathe normally, he wasn’t afraid. But he was wary.

After a few moments of silent mutual contemplation, the stranger said, “It sounds like your oxygen hose is ruptured…can I get you something to fix that? Duct tape? A new hose?”


Matthew’s head cocked. The voice was filtered too, not just the breathing, but he had already concluded the other was a man, dressed in leather and some variety of fabrics that sounded similar to Matthew’s own when he moved.

“Here…let me help you up…we’ll get you somewhere safe…off the street…”

With the stranger for support, Rhyd struggled to his feet. His problem wasn’t standing, or even walking…only breathing…as it made the effort a difficult one. He did not ask where the other man was taking him, could not say why he dared to trust him, except that something in his attire and demeanor spoke of man whose life mission was very similar to his own.

Of course, Rhyd could be wrong. If he was wrong, he would be dead.

But he was not going down without a fight.
Oct. 5th, 2018 02:59 am (UTC)
Excellent use of the quote.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )


Little comm. that could
One Million Words


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